This Moment in Time
by s1ncer1ty
Summary: Yuushi had no idea what forces brought an injured Ran to his doorstep, nor did he know what his former teammate wanted of him. He only knew he had to keep that moment, and Ran, from slipping from his fingers yet again. Knight x Ran.


**"This Moment in Time"**  
by s1ncer1ty

Yuushi had no idea what forces brought an injured Ran to his doorstep, nor did he know what his former teammate wanted of him. He only knew he had to keep that moment -- and Ran -- from slipping from his fingers yet again.

The man currently lying limp and unconscious upon my couch doesn't belong here.

Certainly, if we were discovered, we'd both find ourselves in a heap of trouble well beyond what we typically create for ourselves through our respective night jobs. I don't know what happened to bring him to such a state -- near-helpless from blood loss and semiconscious with pain from a deep, jagged gash across his side -- nor do I understand whatever forces brought him, delirious, to my doorstep, but I couldn't well have left him there. Even if it weren't _Ran_, there's no way my conscience would ever have let me leave behind someone so wounded to bleed to death.

God, what have I done?

He's going to need medical attention beyond the rudimentary wrap of gauze I can provide. The tape has quickly soaked through with blood; I'll have to replace the dressing much sooner than I'd hoped. Were my soul strong enough to phone Bishop, he might have administered the stitches Ran needed to draw his wound closed. And I have no desire to cart him off to the hospital, where he might slip through my fingers again, before I have a chance to discover just how he came to rest in a feverish heap, propped up against the wall outside my apartment door. I have my phone at the ready, just in case his temperature begins to spike again, but unless the situation grows dire, I have no intention of calling the hospital.

So much about him as changed -- it's apparent even though he's been unconscious for the past eight hours. He has shed the eartails he sported when he'd first joined Crashers, but he's grown his hair almost to his rear and plaits it to keep it out of the way. After the time spent asleep on my couch -- not to mention whatever hell he went through to get to my apartment -- his braid has frayed, strands of burgundy hair frizzing out from wear. I don't dare touch it while he's unconscious. To unwind that hair, to run my hands through its length and loosen the tangles with my fingers, would be to lose myself.

Perhaps he's grown taller -- or perhaps I've just grown smaller, always eclipsed by the shadow of a man who's known his destiny all along and never once strayed from that path even when those around him have tried to drag him from an ultimately fatal end. There are twin spots of red at the bridge of his nose, as if wearing his reading glasses has become commonplace, and lines surrounding his eyes. Maybe he's somehow even learned to smile.

Yet Ran still mumbles to himself in his sleep; he always has, especially when he's running a temperature. I've replaced the cool compress atop his forehead several times and tried to lift his head to force him to swallow some aspirin, but Ran's fever -- much like the man himself -- is bullishly stubborn. It will break when it wants, regardless of whatever assistance I attempt to give. In the meantime, Ran contents himself with mumbling an incoherent spill of words which, strung together, make little sense, but fill my heart with an unbidden well of nostalgia.

I'm sure I've dozed off more than once, myself -- though the shock of finding Ran lying bloodless upon my doorstep has worked me up too thoroughly to truly sleep -- but my eyes and mind snap open instantly the moment I hear my name slip through fever-flushed lips. I lean forward in the worn easy chair at the side of the couch and stare with consternation at the man in an attempt to determine whether he's finally regained consciousness.

"Ran...?"

"Yuushi," comes the whisper again, although his eyes never open. "Idiot."

At that, I cannot help but release a tense chuckle. "I never claimed anything to the contrary," I say, brushing strings of sweaty burgundy hair from his face. "Are you finally awake?"

For a long moment, I hear no response from the man, and I nearly resign myself to the notion that he hasn't found the energy to awaken quite yet. But finally, he snorts lightly and mutters, "No, idiot. I've died and gone to hell."

"Sometimes it's hard to tell the difference, but I assure you, you're far from hell," I say, pulling away and resting my elbows against my knees.

"So you say." Iced-violet eyes crack open slowly, and he at first squints as he takes in the expanse of my living room -- from the mottled grey carpet to the dusty furniture, I own nothing more than memories of ages that are little changed over the years between us. "What am I doing here?"

"You tell me." I snort and roll my eyes, affecting a long-suffering tone that is, at its heart, only partially a joke. "I had been perfectly content to spend a quiet evening at home. But instead, I found myself forced to bandage and coddle the lost soul I found outside my door. Probably saved your life, too."

"You shouldn't have bothered," Ran says shortly as he shoves himself upright onto his elbows, eliciting a sharp hiss of breath and driving me straight to my feet.

"Stop that. You're in no condition to be moving around so much. Easy, now," I order, placing my hands against his shoulders in an effort to urge him to lie back against the cushions once more.

Ran drops his gaze and lifts pale hands to push aside the thin blanket I'd draped across him after I'd patched him up. Upon discovering the blood-drenched bandages wrapped as tightly around his bare midsection as I could manage, he shakes his head in visible disdain. "You're a poor nurse. I'm still bleeding."

"I'm a fine nurse," I say, feeling somewhat resentful in admitting that fact. "But I'm no doctor. You need stitches, which I'm in no position to give."

After a moment more of contemplation, Ran again drapes the blanket across his shoulders and settles back against the couch, although he remains upright in -- I truly suspect -- an effort to raise my hackles. Ran has never before listened to me in the past -- why would he start now? "Your apartment is too cold."

"Do you do anything other than complain?" I ask with mock-impatience. "It isn't that the room is cold; it's because your temperature hit almost 40 degrees earlier. It's come down some since then, but you're still feverish. Yes, I did check," I add, nodding toward the thermometer kept upon the side table, next to the glass of water and the aspirin I'd tried unsuccessfully to shove down his throat earlier.

Ran pulls the blanket tighter across him; he's visibly shivering, shoulders twitching from the shakes brought on by such a high fever, although he's also glaring at me in defiance. His features have softened somewhat over the years -- no longer the hard-eyed man with ice in his veins he was when we worked together -- but he can still level a glare that might be considered a massively deadly weapon if looks truly could kill. "At least get me something to drink. Tea. Something warm."

"As demanding as ever," I say with a wry chuckle. "I'm surprised no one's taught you some semblance of politeness. But then, I suppose vulgarity always suited you much better."

"Yuushi..." He trails off, and at first he continues to glare, before the hard expression collapses an instant later and he murmurs, "Please. I'm cold."

Part of me wants to ask what he'd done with the real Ran, but I hold my tongue for the time being -- Ran likely has little energy in him to fight, and he appears just as confused as I am about how he ended up nearly bled to death on my couch. "Right away. The cupboard's a little bare. Missions have been few and far between," I murmur, pushing myself to my feet and moving toward the kitchen.

After quickly filling the kettle from the sink, I lean back against the countertop as I wait for the water to boil, making sure I have an eye on the living area of my apartment. Despite his condition, I wouldn't put it past Ran to be so stubborn as to pick himself up and leave. At least with him in a line of sight, I can ensure he won't bolt out the door the instant my back is turned.

He's very likely more than aware I'm watching, but it appears to faze him little. Ran leans his head back against the cushions of the couch, his eyes drifting shut once more, and pulls the blanket even tighter when he thinks I may have shifted my gaze for a brief moment. His cheeks and lips are flushed red, high spots of color on an otherwise pale face, and the long strands of his bangs spill before his eyes as if to provide some insulation against the fever-induced chills.

I probably could have watched him for ages, with little regard for time, had the shrill whistle of the kettle not jarred me from my reverie. I swear I catch a bemused smirk from Ran as I nearly jump out of my skin and spin on my heel to shut off the burner. The kettle twitches only a little in my hands as I pour out the water into two separate mugs.

"I apologize. I didn't have any loose tea. Only bags," I murmur as I return to the living room and fold myself beside him on the couch. His hands tremble fiercely as I pass him his mug of tea, but he has enough control to keep from spilling it into his lap. "Careful. It's hot."

A cold expression washes for an instant over his face, but it's quickly overcome as the warmth of the tea begins to sink in. "Thank you."

"So," I say smoothly, past the rapid hammering of my heart, "why don't you tell me just why you're here? I find it hard to believe it's merely coincidence that of anyplace you could go, you ended up on my doorstep. To what do I owe this honor, Ran?"

He is silent at first, merely staring down into the steaming mug he clasps in both hands. "There's something I needed to tell you. Something important." I cannot tell if what he says at all relates to my question.

Setting aside his mug of tea, he slumps against my shoulder, head settling into the hollow of my neck, and I jump in bewilderment at what seems like such an uncharacteristic gesture, coming from Ran. "Na -- what do you think you're doing?" I manage to sputter.

"Stop making such a fuss," says Ran sternly. Heat radiates off him in waves, even as he shivers uncontrollably in his skin. Each sharp intake of breath of his seems to shudder, and I can tell he's struggling to keep his teeth from chattering. He nestles in closer as I reluctantly draw my arm around him and cradle him against my body. "My mother ... she used to take care of me when I had a fever."

"Huh?" I blink, both confused and a little perturbed that he could speak so easily about a long-deceased parent he'd put far out of his mind years ago, but still couldn't answer such a simple question as to how he was injured. "That can't be the great and important news you needed to tell me."

"She used to make me tea and let me lean against her, watching television, until I fell asleep," Ran says, as if he hadn't even heard me speak.

"Well, I'm not your mother! And I'd appreciate it if you didn't think of me as some sort of substitute," I snap. Against the desperate longing in my heart, I shrug off his touch, forcing him to sit up with a dizzying jerk. "Now, what is it?"

Out of the corner of my eye, I can see he's staring directly at me, chest rising shallowly as he regards me with a hard expression. "I need to be honest with you -- I know you appreciate such trivialities."

"Yes," I mutter with some degree of exasperation, setting aside my mug of tea atop the side table. "Please do. I know it's a hard thing for you to accomplish."

I'd hoped he'd roll his eyes and spit back an insult in return, but instead he holds that unwaveringly serious gaze, eyes locked fast with mine. I've already fallen fast into his trap, even if he were wholly unaware he'd even set it. "You need to know, Yuushi ... this will be the last time you see me. I don't expect any of my team will survive this next mission."

"Come on, already, Ran. You shouldn't be talking about this," I murmur softly as a frown begins to creep over my face.

"Don't pretend you don't know about this mission. I know Queen tells you more than you deserve to know."

"Please, Ran. I don't mean your mission!" A sudden, hot tone creeps into my voice, forcing its way through a rapidly constricting chest. "I mean you have no right to assume your mission will fail -- because I know you, for whatever deluded reason, seem to think the only way you'll ever fail your mission is through your death."

Ran stares at me for a moment before shaking his head -- perhaps it's my imagination, but I almost swear I catch a glimmer of sadness through his fever-bright eyes. "It will be my last -- and, if I can help it, Weiss's last. We don't deserve anything other than death for what we've done."

"You're a goddamn fool, Fujimiya!" I want nothing more than to shake him by the shoulders -- either that, or to lock him away from the world, saving him from the demise he seeks to bring down upon himself. "Why are you even bothering to tell me this?"

A very thin smile makes its way to Ran's flushed lips and he leans closer, breath hot and a little sour as he speaks the words that pierce like a stiletto through my heart: "I'm surprised you haven't figured it out by now. I needed to tell you -- of all people -- goodbye."

"No." I shake my head immediately. "You're talking nonsense. You're sick."

He lifts a hand, and I fight the instinctive urge to jerk away from his touch as his fingers trail through the ends of my hair. "I need you, Yuushi. I don't doubt you'll somehow be impacted by this mission. So, if it comes down to it -- if it all goes too far -- I trust you'll do what's right."

"And what might that be?" I whisper hollowly, the pull of his fingers in my hair enveloping all better reason in ice.

"Extinguish me with your own hand," Ran says without missing a beat, his oddly soft expression in an instant turning deadly serious.

"_What_?" With a snap of my wrist, I knock away his hand, livid spots of color rising unbidden in my cheeks. "There's no way I can accept that -- not after all Crashers has stood for --"

"I'm not asking your team. I'm asking you."

"Asshole!" I spit, sputtering as I struggle to give voice to the tide of anger flooding so suddenly to the surface. "You don't know what you're asking! How am I supposed to kill you -- the man I l--" I break off suddenly, gasping at the words that very nearly fall from my lips.

Ran raises his hand again, and I find I don't have the will to fight him as the backs of his fingers trace a trail of electric heat across my face. "If that's the case," he says in a quiet tone, "then you have all the more reason to kill me, if I asked you to."

"I hate you," I whisper -- lying through my teeth for the first time ever to Ran. It feels as if someone has taken a hot blade to my chest and flayed me open for the world to see -- heart bleeding and broken as it struggles to beat on in spite of the pain. "I hate what you're making me do -- what you've always made me do."

Ran inclines his head, once again an almost sad cast coming over his features. "I truly am sorry. Perhaps if I'd done better by you... by everyone..." He trails off in a whisper of regrets ... memories and loss. "Yuushi, please."

"Fine. _Fine_! If you want to go and fucking die, go right ahead. But don't involve me. Don't ever involve me."

"Yuushi..."

"No!" I shout, unable to contain the anger that's built up explosively within me. "It's always been about what you want -- I let you walk that road alone to whatever ruin you wished upon yourself! I've watched from the sidelines as you took to a life of murder. Now, it's about time you gave something back -- for all you've put me through. Don't you dare put me through more!" Teeth wrapping around my bottom lip, I turn away, trying to ignore the tremble that's crept into my voice.

I refuse to lift my head; I can't risk his seeing me in such a state. As it stands, I can barely draw breath, and my fingertips dig sharp crescents into the palms of my hands as I fight to hold back the engulfing wave of emotion. I can almost feel Ran's eyes boring into me -- always able to see the minuscule cracks in my soul I hide even from my self.

"Okay. No more ... Yuushi," he says in a near-whisper.

That's it? _That's it_?

"Goddamnit." Cool fingers press to my chin and lift my head just as twin tears break free to spill down my face. Cheeks burning, I try to laugh it off, to prove to Ran what a true, true fool I am, and I press the back of my hand to sodden eyes. "I -- I'm sorry, Ran. I'm just --"

"Shut up." His hand moves from my chin to wrap around my wrist and yank my arm away from my face. My eyes closing tight in an effort to stave off more tears, I don't see him return his fingers to my cheeks to brush the stray drops of wetness gently away. "You're an idiot."

"An idiot who's lost you once before, and who keeps foolishly thinking he doesn't want to lose you again," I say, the words falling painfully from my mouth before I can stop them.

"I'm sorry." Without another word, he shifts his body forward to press his lips to mine, halting any further speech. Overwhelmed, I let out a small, choked sob, a fresh spill of tears slipping from my eyes, and wrap my arms around his shoulders. Even though I'd long prayed this moment would one day come, I cry knowing its beauty will be all too fleeting; I cry, because before I know it, Ran will be gone.

He pulls away and lets me collapse against his shoulder; if it causes him any pain, he doesn't let on. I hate myself for showing such weakness to a man who, at another point further back in time, might once have used it against me. It takes me only a short amount of time to bring my better senses back in control, but I remain still and limp against his chest in an effort to draw out this fleeting moment for as long as I can. Only when I realize there's moisture still lingering on his shoulder even after my tears have dried do I raise my head.

Ran's hair clings damply to his forehead and cheeks, the skin of his face and neck shimmering with sweat. I lift my palm to his forehead and somehow manage to smile as I discover the slick skin beneath has cooled considerably. "Your fever's broken." With great reluctance and a shuddering breath, I drop my hand and move to stand, projecting a good-natured grin that I'm sure doesn't reach my eyes. "I should get you new covers, and maybe some new clothes. I think I have a pair of sweatpants that may be closer to your size." Though Ran likely had grown to outweigh me over the years, the man's bulk appears more centered in his arms and chest, his waist and hips still whip-thin.

Ran nods weakly and picks the blanket off him before standing on tottery feet, favoring the wound in his side. He knows the way to the window probably better than I do, and he pushes aside the blinds to press his hands against the cold glass. It's begun to snow again, and Ran shivers faintly, though no longer because he's burning up. "Get me a fresh dressing too, while you're up."

"Helpful as always, I see," I cannot help but joke. Who am I kidding? I would have gone clear around the world for bandages, if Ran had asked me to.

He turns, fixing me with an incredulously icy glare only he can manage, and in spite of myself I cannot help but laugh.

"Aah. Never mind." I turn away and walk toward the hall, where I can retrieve the spare array of bandages from the hallway closet. "I'll rewrap your side, but I must insist you see someone to get stitches. Either at a hospital or wherever you go for medical attention these days," I call out.

I don't realize he's followed me from the hallway to the bedroom, where I keep the spare blankets, until I feel his hands upon my shoulders, cool and calm. I halt in my tracks, fumbling the bandages to the ground in startled bewilderment. "If you can hold your tongue, we'll go to the hospital," Ran says in a soft tone.

I lick my lips, as if that will help along the words so desperately trying to escape. "Hold my tongue?"

"Don't you know anything? Persia won't be pleased if I don't go to an approved Kritiker facility," he says, as if that statement should be painfully obvious to me.

"Then why don't you?" Inclining my head, I glance down at the hand on my shoulder, lost in a long-desired touch that will fade all too quickly. It's more than I'd ever come to expect from the man, but at the same time far from enough -- never, ever enough.

Ran doesn't speak; he only slides those arms around my chest and sinks his chin against my shoulder. His breath comes in shallow hitches -- the slight slouch must be pulling at the edges of his wound -- but I won't draw away.

"I -- I've missed you, Ran. Come back. You'll still be welcomed within Crashers," I whisper and bring my hands up to meet his, fingers sliding atop his own. Ran's hands are scarred and callused, worn hard from the lifestyle and the sword he'd taken up -- too much in contrast with the softer lines of my own hands.

"I've told you before that will never happen," Ran whispers, his chest rising against my back as he speaks. "I've strayed too far from everything your team stands for. I know no other way."

"Ran, it's never too late--"

He cuts me off with a sharp snort. "We've been through this, Yuushi. I will not return." He's silent a moment more, only the thin rasp of his breathing and the clutch of his arms indicating he hasn't passed out or fallen back asleep. Finally, he speaks again: "Which is why I needed to see you again. To let you know..."

I frown and shrug off his embrace so I can turn to face him. Nothing in his expression or his hard eyes gives any hint as to what he may have said before trailing off. "Ran?"

Ran twines a hand in my hair, pulling the longer strands of my bangs away from my eyes. Never before have I felt so prone, so caught up in the swell of nostalgia and longing for a trophy so unattainable, and once again I find myself wondering if I may be dreaming this encounter. If I never had to turn my gaze from those cool violet eyes locked upon my own, I could have died content. "I feel the same," he whispers.

"I've always known," I say with a soft smile, swallowing past the lump of emotion that threatens to well up once again. "I've known since you left us all those years ago. I've always held on, knowing one day you might be back. I've never stopped hoping."

"Idiot." Ran turns from me, but not before flashing what might have been the ghost of a smile. My stomach twists with the fear he may be gathering his effects and preparing to leave, but after a few moments I hear no such exit, and I breathe a thin sigh of relief.

Bending over, I gather the remnants of the bandages from the ground, balling up the white gauze that's unwound; I don't trust my hands to remain steady enough to roll them up once again. As I glance down the hall, I see Ran has returned to the window to gaze out at the snowfall -- likely the last snowfall he'd ever see in this apartment.

Perhaps he will only stay for another night more, or even just another couple hours. I may never discover just how he was injured, nor what forces brought him to me for one last moment; still, I am eternally thankful, even if some shattered piece of my heart will never be nearly the same again. For now, I will paint on a smile and attend to a man who needs me just as much as I need him -- yet who also knows full well we cannot travel the same path if we're to survive.

For now, he is mine, and I will not for the life of me let this moment in time wash away.


End file.
